The Outlaw Blaine Anderson
by GoddamnWrite
Summary: Kurt Hummel, lonely shop-keep filled with dreams of escape, meets a stranger in the midst of the Wild West. And then gets taken on an adventure - whether he likes it or not. [Western AU]
1. Chapter 1

**The Outlaw Blaine Anderson  
Chapter 1**

"I'm just saying, I think he'd rather take _you_ up those stairs," Santana tossed out, a nail scratching under her garter as she arched a shapely leg upon a chair. "Because he sure as hell doesn't know what to do when he has _me_in my cot."

"Santana!" Kurt hissed, watching the barkeep warily. "Keep your voice down."

Santana rolled her shoulders. "I'm not scared of Mad Bear. I don't see why you should be."

"Because the last thing I need is to be getting dragged out into the street and shot in the head by the sheriff, thank you very much." Kurt sipped at the last of his milk as he made to get back up. "Anyway, I have to get back to the shop. I left Finn in charge."

Santana winced. "Do me a favour, don't give him his pay early again. Brittany had to draw me so many baths last time. The stench was in my skin for weeks."

"Thank you for that horrific image. And I wouldn't worry about that." Kurt smiled. "He's been stepping out with Miss Fabray for the past few weeks. He even escorted her to church just this last Sunday. Pa says they'll be ringing in the new year as man and wife."

"Ain't that sweet," Santana sneered, knocking back her whiskey sour. "Well, I got work to do as well." She nodded towards the doorway as Sheriff Dave Karofsky entered. "Here's Mad Bear, himself."

"Good luck," Kurt whispered as her face morphed into a _come-hither _grin, and she slipped neatly from the stool. One hand upon the stair's handrail, she waited for Karofsky with the other upon her hip.

Kurt tried to slip past the sheriff without making eye contact, but the larger man eased quickly into place, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hummel. You here for Brittany again?" he asked jovially, and Kurt felt his neck flush red as the few patrons of _Cheerios_began to laugh heartily.

"No, Sheriff. I was just stopping by for a drink, now if you excuse me—"

"Land sake, sometimes I expect you to gather up your petticoats and hit me with your parasol, Hummel." He looked over Kurt, an indecipherable look in his eyes. "You sure is a queer little thing."

Kurt stared back, his mouth in a straight line. "_Excuse me_, Sheriff.

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" Karofsky took a step back, removing his hat and making a show of bowing as Kurt moved past. Again the others in the bar laughed as Kurt left them behind, the heat of humiliation and anger coiling in his gut.

As he stalked across the street to Hummel's, his hand pressed tightly into his pocket, curling round a familiar and loved piece of parchment. He didn't need to see it in his palm to know every line, every shape, every color. He'd been carrying it around for almost a year now, ever since that girl from the theater troupe, Harmony, had given it to him. _New York_, she had said, _was where dreams came true. _

One day, he told himself, it would be his dream.

All he had to do was get out of this place first.

* * *

Kurt traced the whorls in the counter and sighed. It was a slow day. They were _all _slow days. He glanced out the window and sighed at the familiar sight. He could predict his day down to the very last second. At just gone ten, the school-teacher, Ms Pillsbury, would come in for a stock up on chalk and a frankly worrying amount of starch and soap. She would soon be followed by the peculiar Mr. Ryerson. Finn would often have to serve him, as he always seemed to require items from the highest shelves- only to change his mind the moment Finn had located it. Noon would bring in the sheriff and his dull headed friends, they would smile and jar with his pa, but the moment it was just them, they would josh Kurt until he was red in the face and grinding his teeth into a fine powder. By one-thirty, the shop would be-

The bell rang to signal a new customer, breaking Kurt's thoughts. Kurt immediately straightened, excitement lacing his spine. _An out-of-towner_. Burt's father disapproved of how visibly different Kurt was with visitors to the McKinley, but he couldn't help it. These breaks in routine were the only things that kept him sane most days.

The hat hung low over the customer's face, hiding him from view and Kurt arched a brow, waiting for the man to reveal himself.

"Howdy," the stranger announced.

"Good afternoon," replied Kurt, placing his hands flat upon the counter. "Can I help you?"

"Mayhap." He shrugged and touched at his jaw, the sound of his fingers scraping against the stubble it found there. "I'm looking for a place to rest my head and my horse for the night."

Kurt nodded. "Just passing through?"

"Unless something catches my eye." On this, he tipped at his hat and smiled. Kurt felt like all the air in him had whooshed out in a single moment. The man was beautiful. Simply and utterly beautiful.

No, he told himself. He couldn't afford to think like that, not here. Not again.

"Yes, uh, well Shannon Beiste should have a room. Tell her that I sent you." Kurt took a nearby napkin and began drawing a hasty map. The man moved closer and Kurt dug his heels into the ground to stop himself darting away.

"And you are?" he asked, his voice low.

"Uh, Kurt?" Kurt winced. "Kurt, my name is Kurt."

"So good they named you thrice?"

Kurt gave a hesitant laugh and held the napkin out to him. "I—no, I—"

"Did I hear something about a horse?" Burt's voice sounded out into the tiny shop. "Can I help you, stranger?"

"Well, your boy here was kind enough to point me towards an inn. But I need a place to saddle up my mare." He winked at Kurt. "And someone to take a look at his shoe, got it done in the last town and it may as well have been done with a lick and a promise."

"I get you. Shysters calling themselves experts all over these days." Burt nodded. "Name's Hummel." He held out a hand and grasped at the other man's tightly. "What's your handle?"

A shadow seemed to pass over his face for a moment, and then was chased away by another one of his wide grins. "Warbler. Brian Warbler."

"Meetcha." Burt nodded. "I can take a look at your horse for you. Cost you, though."

Brian removed a coin purse from his holster and dropped a couple of gold pieces onto the counter. "I think that should cover it."

Burt grinned down at the coins. "Ayuh, that should cover it just fine."

"I guess I like this town already," said Brian, his eyes never leaving Kurt's.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Outlaw Blaine Anderson  
Chapter 2**

"Morning, Hummel."

"Morning, Sheriff," Kurt answered, sighing as Karofsky fell into step along by him.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Karofsky said, his hand resting on the small of Kurt's back.

Kurt looked up at the dull, overcast sky and raised his eyebrow. "Yes, I guess it is."

"I didn't see you at church this weekend."

"Hmm. Probably because I didn't go."

"That's the third Sunday in a row now, Hummel." Karofsky's hand moved slightly further down his back and Kurt sped up, trying to lose the contact. "You're becoming quite the gossip fodder."

Of all the men in McKinley, Karofsky puzzled him the most. He was rude, overbearing, incompetent as an official and was a downright mean drunk. He had been a stain on Kurt's life since the two had been in short pants. Every prank, every cruel word and every harsh shove had all began with him. But recently he seemed to be doing his best to ingratiate himself into Kurt's life, whenever they were alone anyway. In public, he was the same mean spirited bully as usual.

"Well, I'm sure they'll find something new to talk about soon enough."

"Like a hanging?"

Kurt stopped abruptly at the words, Karofsky's palm smacking him hard in the back. "Wha—what?"

"A hanging, boy. We caught those train robbers from way back Dalton. Two of them at least. Folks from miles around will be coming out to see this." Karofsky grinned and tapped at the badge on his chest. "We haven't had one around here for years. Should be a good show."

"Show?" Kurt spat. "You think that watching a man die is entertainment?"

Karofsky rolled his eyes and, finally, removed his hand. "I should have known you'd be a woman about it."

"Yes, well forgive me for not wanting to see cowards string people up and act like that makes them men. You can include me out." Kurt rose his chin and moved to carry on, but a grip at his elbow dragged him back roughly.

"What did you just call me?" Karofsky demanded, shaking him slightly as he spoke.

"No, that—that wasn't what I meant."

"You think I'm going to take that from the likes of you? Hell, you are barely between hay and grass and you're talking down to me?"

"Let go, you oaf, you're hurting me—"

"Problem here, Sheriff?" A voice spoke from behind them,

Karofsky turned them both, holding Kurt's wrist almost absently. "Take a walk, pal. None of your business can be found over here."

"Seem to be holding onto that boy a mite too tight." Brian drew back his jacket, his Colt gleaming in the dull day's light. "Just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Quickly, the grip loosened and Kurt was released. "Nothing to concern yourself with, stranger. Just a little disagreement. That's all."

"All the same." Brian took a step closer. "I'd be mighty obliged if you could let me borrow young Mr. Hummel here."

Karofsky narrowed his eyes. "You're the stranger staying over at Beiste's, ain't ya? Warbler."

"Guilty."

"How'd you get around the blockade? Ain't no feet meant to be stepping into this town until after the hanging."

"I didn't see none." Brian shrugged. "Guess I got lucky."

"Guess you did." Kurt watched the two, a sense of hysteria building in his throat. He had seen enough gunplay in this town, usually over Quinn Fabray, the last thing he wanted was to see some because of his big mouth.

Karofsky glanced sideways at Kurt, his fingers dancing over his holster.

"Well, I'll leave you two to have a jar." He took a step back and Kurt heaved a sigh of relief.

"You have a nice stay here, Warbler." He curled his lip. "Keep it nice and short."

"Seems the friendly type," Brian said as Karofsky walked, _hurried_, away. "I oughta bend his elbow sometime."

"I don't need your help." Kurt rounded on him, holding his head high. "You didn't need to do that."

Brian laughed, placing his hands on hips. "That's an odd way to show your gratitude."

"There isn't any to show." Kurt's mouth felt dry, and his heart was beating a little faster in his chest. He knew, deep down, it wasn't just from the altercation with Karofsky. Brian was too close, too there and Kurt didn't know what the hell it was doing to him. "I can handle myself just fine."

"I'm sure you can." Brian licked at his lips, and Kurt dug his nails tight into the material of his trousers. "How about I buy you that drink instead?"

"I—I'm taking over my brother's shift."

"I'm sure he can spare you for just a short while," Brian brushed at his shoulder with his own, that teasing smile on his face. "Just a little drink. What can it hurt?"

Kurt glanced back to his father's shop and then back to Brian's face. "Oh, okay. Sure, sure." He patted at his hair, feeling self conscious under Brian's appraisal. "Just one drink."

* * *

"And then your pa married the school mistress?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes, and that's when Finn became my brother." Kurt felt a blush high on his cheekbones at the memory. "I was a _little_over zealous in my matchmaking. Every social we had they'd find themselves partnered up and me nowhere in sight."

"You little sneak! I could tell the moment I saw you!" Brian laughed, his smile bright and wide. "And what about you? Who did _you_partner up with?"

Kurt's eyes wandered over to Brittany who was chatting with a regular. "I-, er-."

"Oh! I see," Brian grinned slyly. "I never thought you'd be the type."

"The type." Kurt's voice came out as a squeak. "What do you mean?"

"To, how do I put this? To pay for a woman's wares."

"No, it's not like that!" Kurt held up his hands, and damned the heat that spread high across his cheeks. "Well, maybe. Once. My seventeenth. It was, well, you know."

"A gift." Brian nodded. "But not one you wanted?"

"No," Kurt said, surprised at how easily the words slipped out. But something about Brian was doing that to him. One drink had quickly become three, and that little while had become an entire morning. The man seemed to set him at ease, which was something Kurt hadn't felt in a long time. It was hard to maintain his usual defensive mask in the face of Brian's genuine interest and enthusiasm. Many in McKinley found him to be a cold fish, but Brian seemed to be sincerely enjoying his company.

And, Kurt couldn't help but notice, not once had his eyes strayed over to the sweet curve of Santana's bosom as she strolled back and forth with the pitcher.

"You're more of a romantic, I guess?"

"Yes, I think I am. I know that's probably silly but-"

"That's not silly," said Brian quietly. "It's not silly at all."

For a moment, silence fell upon them both, their eyes meeting across the table, and a little spark ignited in Kurt's stomach. For his own sanity, he gave a weak smile and looked away.

"So," said Brian. "Your pa was the sheriff? Before that big lug out there?"

Kurt nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "My father became ill last fall and had to step down. They had an election and Karofsky was voted in."

"Really? I wonder at that. He can't have that many summers behind him."

"As many as me, it's true. He's popular around here. To some that's all that counts."

"I take it he's not filling your father's shoes to the hilt?"

Kurt laughed softly. "Something like that, I guess. He misses it but, well, I'm glad that he's out of it and back in the shop." He shrugged. "Less stress, you know?"

"Ah, yes." Brian smirked. "Got yourself a pair of celebrities just over yonder, I hear."

"Oh, I wouldn't know. The first I heard was from Karofsky this morning." Something must have shown in his face, because the next Kurt knew, Brian's fingers were touching at his wrist gently.

"It bothers you?"

Kurt bit at his lip. He knew that his reasoning and opinions were often found to be peculiar and he didn't want this stranger to look at him the same way. "No, it—" He sighed heavily. "Yes, it _does_bother me. Karofsky seemed mighty excited about roping them and we haven't even had the trial yet. It's barbaric."

Brian shrugged. "Some would call it justice."

"I wouldn't be one of them, Mr. Warbler," said Kurt severely. "They build it right outside the calaboose, did you know that? So that all they hear all day is the construction of the very thing that will kill them. Don't you think that's just dreadful?"

Brian's thumb worked at the rim of his glass, his expression faraway. "I guess."

Kurt felt a flash of guilt at the morbid turn the conversation had taken. He liked this Brian. He hadn't had this much fun with someone since Harmony had passed through the town. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten him off with a whole load of belly achin'.

"What about you, Mr. Warbler?" Kurt said, a shade too brightly. "What brings you here?" There was a tone that Kurt hadn't meant to be there, and he winced slightly, convinced that Brian must think that he was nothing but a croaker.

"I told you! Call me Bl—Brian." He sat back in his chair, stretching his arms up and joining his hands behind his head. The action caused his shirt to pull loose from his waistband and reveal just the smallest flash of skin.

The rush was almost overpowering. Kurt felt it in the base of his spine and the nail beds of his thumbs. He almost gasped from the ferocity of his feelings. _Don't_, Kurt snapped at himself. _You're making a friend. Don't do this again. _

"—back east originally," Brian was saying as Kurt blinked back into reality. "I studied law for a little while but it wasn't for me." Brian gestured around himself. "I saddled up my horse and headed out and, well, here I am. It's not an extravagant life but I get by doing a day's work on farms I pass through. Things like that, but it suits me fine."

"I thought I heard an accent! You're from the east!" Kurt gasped. "And you _left_?"

"You make it sound like I jumped out of heaven! Yes, I left. I went looking for a dream, you could say. "

"And did you?" Kurt wouldn't have paid mind to a tornado tearing through the bar. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a hush. "Did you find it?"

Brian shook his head. "But I have my eyes open."

"Does it not get lonely?" Kurt asked, resting his chin on his palm. "Travelling by yourself."

"Yes." The answer was simple and pure and weighed with more than a whole litany of words could convey. "Sometimes it's unbearable."

"I get lonely," Kurt said softly. "All the time."

Brian opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was cut short by the batwing doors loudly clanging against the walls.

"—looks like the scaffolding will be up by the end of the week," the sheriff's deputy, Strando, announced as he entered the saloon. "Haven't had us a hanging in years."

Kurt sighed heavily with distaste and glanced over at Brian, surprised to see that he was sitting straighter than before. His jaw was tight and Kurt noticed that he seemed to be all one live nerve, tense and coiled.

"They really that Carmel gang that turned over the train?" Will Schuester spoke up.

"That's our preacher," Kurt whispered to Brian, who was paying him no mind, his head tilted slightly back as he listened to the men talk.

"Two short but two enough, for sure," Strando answered. "Won't be no coming or going until the trial's over and we got us two loose necks. Except for the hangman of course. He'll be here by morrow."

"Little premature, isn't it?" Will asked, a frown on his face. "Shouldn't we wait until they've been tried?"

Strando tutted and his cronies joined in merrily. "And pay their keep and their meals? Do we look like charity, preacher? The trial will be over and done with tomorrow, for sure. And those two will be dancing on the widow. It will be all done all according to Hoyle, so don't worry none about that."

"Mr. Strando!" Will gasped. "You can't have an execution on the Sabbath."

"Lands sake, _Monday_, then." Strando rolled his eyes.

"You think that the other members of the gang may ride through here? Get through the blockade?"

"Nah, ain't no iron or loyalty to that sort. They'll be happy to have less to split I should imagine." He sat up onto the stool, shooting Brittany a wink and dropping his coin purse down onto the table. "Usual, my sweet."

"Is it true one's a gal? That's what I saws on the wanted posters. Three guys and a miss."

Kurt gasped at that and for the first time since he came in, Strando turned to look at him. Seeing whom he had for an audience, he sneered and turned back to the others.

"Ayuh, it's true. World be coming to something when the dames have more balls than the men." The last part was loud, and obviously for Kurt's benefit. "Hate to waste a good woman like that. A fine looking gal, make no mistake," Strando chuckled. "I mean, no Miss Fabray, but for a downright criminal? A fine looking gal. I dare say Karofsky will be tending to her cell this very evening."

Brian's hands clenched tightly round his glass, knuckles whitening.

"Lucky son of a bitch," another member grumbled. "You think you'll get to plow that?"

"Gentlemen, please," Will beseeched. "That's hardl—"

"Why not?" Strando laughed heartily. "Someone has to cover Karofsky's shift sometime!"

"I'd mind your tongue, friend," Brian spoke up, his voice even and cool. "Or someone will mind it for you."

Kurt's head snapped back round to face Brian, as the bar fell into a shocked silence. Karofsky may have got to his position based on his popularity, but Strando got chosen for his brute strength alone.

"Pardon, pal?" Strando said, standing up from his stool and approaching the table in slow measured steps. "Could have sworn you just put your nose where it don't belong? Noses come into bad times doing things like that."

"He—he was thinking of the ladies present, that's all." Kurt said hurriedly, indicating to Brittany and Santana at the counter. "The conversation was a mite uncouth."

"Ladies?" Strando turned to the women and back again. "I see only whores. Unless we're including _you_in that, darling?"

The crash of an overturning chair rang out and all eyes were on Brian as he rose to his feet.

"I'm going to ask you again. Mind that tongue." Like he had with Karofsky earlier, he drew back his jacket and revealed the butt of his gun. "I'm asking you as a gentleman to change the subject."

"We got us a gent! Well, ain't we blessed! And me, without my Sunday best." Strando eyed the gun with a cold grin. "You'd be wise to not throw that around here, dude."

"Don't give me reason to, and we'll get along just fine." Brian raised his chin, his fingers twitching as Kurt pressed himself back into his chair.

"Boys," Santana drawled. "You're both pretty. Now how about you both stop with the shop talk and someone buy this lady a drink." She eased over, encircling Strando's arm and pressing it flush against her bosom. "A girl could die of thirst waiting for a little attention around here." She shot Kurt a wink and he returned it with a grateful smile.

"Okay, since it's you, darling." Strando pulled her tighter, and Santana gave a little grimace of pain that tore at Kurt's heart. "But maybe the dude and his little wasp should clear out. This is a man's joint. This ain't no sewing circle."

Brian made as if to say something else, but Kurt was already up and around the table. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's just go."

Never taking his eyes off Strando, Brian allowed himself to be led outside, not exhaling until they reached the noon air.

"This is a sweet little town, isn't it?" he said blandly.

"That's one word for it, yes," said Kurt, causing Brian to smile and let some of the tension clear from his shoulders. "But I have many others that you may have at your disposal." Kurt pushed his tongue into his cheek, and turned slightly, facing the other man. "Mr. Warbler—"

"Brian."

"Brian," Kurt said almost reverentially, savouring it on his tongue. "Do you believe that you'll stay long? In town, I mean."

Brian observed him, his expression cool. "Why?"

"I was—It's just—" A voice in Kurt's head was screaming at him to stop, but his tongue had grabbed the words and was running amok. "I wondered if you would perhaps like some company. When you leave?" Kurt licked at his lips. "Me, I mean. Perhaps I could come. With you." Kurt winced as his fingers unconsciously gesticulated walking. "Out of town." _Ouch_. It was truly amazing that he had managed to restrain himself from grabbing a stick and drawing a picture in the dirt to further explain.

"You'd want to come with me?" Brian said, his eyebrows tracing his hairline.

"If that would be satisfactory with you, Mr—Brian..." Kurt rushed on. "I could be a great help! And I can tend to a horse's shoe better than anyone, why I tended to yours and isn't she fine? I can read and write. I've had all my schooling. And I can mend clothes just as well as any woman. I wouldn't be a bother, I promise you."

"And your father? He would be just dandy that you'd throw your hat in with me? A man you met only yesterday and have spoken to on _three_occasions."

"He would—" Kurt faltered. "He would understand. I have expressed my wish to leave here many a time. And it's not like I can never come back is it?"

"I wonder at that." Brian's voice was low, almost a whisper. "I do wonder at that."

"And it wouldn't be forever. I've been saving up, you see, to go east? And I figure I could do what you do! Odd jobs on farms and the like. You must make more than I do at the shop." Kurt frowned. "Father has an annoying habit of setting up tabs for everyone."

"He's some fellow your pa." Brian laughed, and Kurt smiled dopily back. If he was laughing, maybe he liked the idea. Maybe he wouldn't mind travelling with Kurt, showing him the ropes. It would be nice to have a friend for once. A real friend.

Just a friend. That's all.

"So, what do you say. Will you at least give it your consideration?"

"Kurt, I—" Brian's grin grew cold and muted, his eyes fixed over Kurt's shoulder. "I guess your deputy was right. They sure made short work of it."

Turning, Kurt saw that scaffolding of the gallows was already underway. Men made their way back and forth with planks and nails, most likely bought at Hummel's, and the sound of sawing started up.

"He's not my anything," Kurt muttered. "And I guess the excitement made them work faster."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You don't like it either, do you?" Kurt asked, stepping a tad closer, his knuckles gently nudging against Brian's.

"Have you seen one before?" Brian's eyes darted downwards at their contacted flesh. Kurt waited for him to pull away and was pleased when he didn't.

"A hanging? Once. Just once when I was a boy. I hated it."

Brian smiled softly. "And the trial will be tomorrow and Sunday—"

"Everyone will be at the church service."

"Including you?"

"Oh, I'm not really a church goer." Kurt laughed. "I'll probably be in the sh—"

"You should go." Brian moved away, his skin leaving Kurt's abruptly. "You should go to church, Kurt."

It felt like lead to his stomach. Stepping back, he searched Brian's face for the friend that he had made in the bar, for the fun lively man that he had spent the morning with. He was gone. All Kurt found was an unreadable dark gaze that appraised him coldly. He knows. He knows and he hates it. He's disgusted.

"And my proposal?" he said stiffly, hating the pitch that was higher than usual.

"That wouldn't be good idea, Kurt." Brian's voice was bland and not a tiny trace of friendliness lay there anymore. For the first time since they had spoken, Kurt felt a shiver of unease work its way down his spine.

"I see," replied Kurt, coldly. "Well, I must get going. Good day to you, Mr. Warbler." Kurt raised his nose high, and spun deftly on his heel.

Quickly, ignoring the burn of humiliation clutching at his skin, he went to make his way to work.

"Kurt," Brian called, stopping him. Kurt turned back, telling his heart to cease its ridiculous, foolish rush of hope. "I mean it. Go to church this Sunday."

Clenching his hands into fists, Kurt gave him no reply, simply returning to his journey.

The sooner he left this folly behind, the better.


	3. Chapter 3

"I will, of course, pray for their souls today at church," Quinn announced to the table. "Such a terrible thing that a woman would be amongst them. I would think it quite against our genteel nature." Ignoring Kurt's snort, she raised her pretty nose primly. "According to Lauren, they say she was actually wearing a pair of men's breeches! How- how _vulgar_. Can you imagine?"

"It's true," Finn nodded, shoving a slice of the loaf into his mouth. "Puck and I were at the trial. She was kind of fair, too." Seeing Quinn's narrowed gaze, he shook his head fiercely. "I mean-for what she is and all."

Quinn pursed her lips. "Hmm."

"I, uh- I don't reckon much of that stranger," Finn said, changing the subject and reaching for the jug of water. "Seems a bit of a four-flusher, if you ask me."

"Oh? Brian?" said Kurt, his heart picking up pace. "You've met him."

"No, no. That wasn't his name." Finn answered with a frown. "It was something like Jim. Yeah, Jim. He's the one they brought in for the hangings."

"Not decent." Carole shook her head. "Why, they barely waited for the dust to settle on the gavel hitting the wood."

"Whole lot of talking not a whole lot of eating going on," Burt grunted.

"But I did see that Warbler fellow outside the the jailhouse," Finn continued. "Don't reckon much of him either. All those big grins and flashy spurs. Total blowhard if you ask me."

Burt laughed. "You're hard man to impress, Finn. No wonder I had such a time of it courting your mother."

"I thought him very handsome," Carole said with a wink. "All the ladies have been following him around since he hit town. Seems right gentlemanly, too."

Quinn turned to Kurt, her face filled with insincere interest. "Isn't he a good friend of yours, Kurt?" She smiled. "I heard that the two of you were drinking the day away just the other morn."

"We talked, yes," Kurt admitted, keeping his eyes on his plate, appetite fleeing. "But I hardly would say a lifelong friendship was formed."

At least, this was what Kurt was telling himself. He had gone over and over his conversation with Brian Warbler, trying to find that dire moment when he had revealed too much; the moment that had turned Brian so sour on him so soon. He had barely had a separate thought since their morning together, and it didn't help that this town was so small it was impossible to turn without falling over the man. Each time that they would pass each other in the street, Brian would turn quickly away from him, and for Kurt the rejection began afresh. And to think, he'd actually been ready to run away with the man.

"Will you be joining us this evening, Kurt?" Quinn turned to him, her smile sickly sweet.

"No, Quinn." Kurt answered wearily. "I won't be joining you."

"I see," she sipped at her water. "I would think that you would want to visit the church more. Considering your mother's part in its creation."

"Well, there is a lot of work to be done in the shop."

She raised her eyebrows. "Almost never-ending, it would seem."

"Quite." Kurt grinned tightly. "I see that your hired man, Mr. Puckerman is still working on that leaky roof of yours, Quinn." Her gaze turned to frost. "That must have been some damage. Why, pa, if he was in full health, could have had that job done weeks ag-" Kurt hissed as a foot made harsh contact with his shin.

"The storm damaged it more than we realised," she said, as Kurt tried to discreetly rub where her blow had landed. "As you well know."

"Let it alone, you two," Burt warned shooting a glance to an oblivious Finn. "Polish off, anyway. The service will be starting soon."

They finished their meals in relative silence, Quinn shooting Kurt cold looks in between adoring (and annoyed) glances at Finn. He returned them in kind.

* * *

"You're sure you won't come?" Burt stood in the doorway, the others carrying on ahead. "Preacher be mighty pleased to see you back, I know he misses your voice in the choir."

"I'm sure, pa. I just-" He shook his head. "You know how I feel about it."

"Yes," Burt grinned. "You've been quite vocal from time to time, for sure, and that's none too wise in a place like this. I wish that you'd drop in, though. At least to look upon your mother."

Kurt stiffened. "I remember her face. I don't need oil paint and imitation gold frames to bring her back to life." He blanched at his own tone. "I just don't want to sit in that room when I don't believe. It seems wrong."

"All the same, that place meant a lot to her," said Burt gently. "It's nice that we have such a wonderful honour to her."

"Yes, pa." Kurt smiled wearily. "And I know, my prickliness often causes you trouble with the townsfolk and I'm sorry. I'll try harder, I promise."

"Hush now, don't you dare. This town needs someone to shake them up." Burt patted Kurt on his shoulder fondly. "Maybe I should miss this service? How about we do something together? I can help you take stock."

"No, no," Kurt pushed at his father with a laugh. "You go on ahead. Someone needs to make sure Finn doesn't fall asleep and drool on Quinn. _Again_."

"Aye, at that." Burt donned his hat, and flicked at the brim. "You're a good kid, Kurt."

"And remember to take off your hat when you enter this time, or Mr. Figgins will go spare." Kurt shooed his father from the step, waving as he caught up with the rest of his family.

Kurt watched them as they left, grinning as he saw Quinn slap at Finn's arm. No doubt he'd thrown his heel into it again. As much as he looked forward to the day he headed east, he knew that he would miss them all terribly. Especially his father. But he also knew that he had never belonged to this place, not really. He knew in his heart he was meant for something more.

After all, it was in his blood.

He turned to re-enter the house, but paused as something caught his eye in the distance. Outside the courthouse, two shadowed figures stood close, their forms moving animatedly as if in full conversation. Kurt squinted against the dying light but he didn't recognise them from this distance. A chill curled around his frame and he hugged himself tightly, glancing further along the street. The gallows stood out starkly against the sky and Kurt shivered again.

A strong urge took hold of him, to run after his father. Why, he didn't know. He held himself tighter while a sense of foreboding settled deep within his bones.

* * *

Kurt gazed upon his mother's face, feeling a strange sort of sereneness that he had never received from the preacher's words. He hadn't lied to his father, her face was etched into his mind, always there when he needed her. He even carried her handkerchief on his person, just to keep her close. Yet, when he was still trying to fit into the awkward regime of church going, this had been his favourite part. Standing in the foyer of the church, as his mother watched over him. It was the only time that he had ever felt at peace in this building.

The church itself was a gift to the town from his estranged grandparents. They had been Easterners, passing through the West and spreading the word of the Lord. The word had stuck. Almost immediately, in the quaint little town, a church was being thrown up in a frenzy of religious servitude. Unfortunately, the youngest member of the flock had found her own slice of heaven in the arms of one Burt Hummel. When the church was complete, the family turned up their noses and had moved on, leaving Elizabeth behind to marry her common beau. They'd never heard from them again.

Like his father, Kurt's mother had been adored in the town; for her kindness, her intelligence, her gentle nature and sweet beauty. It had been a dark day for them all when consumption had taken her from them during Kurt's eighth winter. A local artist had gifted Kurt's father with the portrait and he in turn had asked for it to be hung within the church so that the whole town could remember the young woman they had all truly loved.

Kurt sighed. He didn't know why his feet had taken him here. Not when he had so vehemently spoken against entering. All he knew was he had been seized by an almighty need to see her, to be with her. He reached out his fingers and stopped a breath away from the frame. This is absurd, he thought. I have work to be doing.

Stepping back, he smiled at his mother's image and shook his head at his silliness. He was getting as bad as Miss Pillsbury with her fussiness and worrying.

The voices inside began to rise in song, and Kurt decided it was time to get going. Walking back out, he placed his hands in his pockets and whistled the merry hymn emanating from behind him. He could feel, rather than see, the gallows to his side, daring him to look, but he refused its allure. As much as he felt for those inside the jailhouse, there was nothing to be done. They had made their own luck.

Reaching Hummel's, he crossed the threshold, closing the door neatly behind him. As he removed his jacket and hung it up on the rack, he thought of what he could be getting on with to while the day away. Most likely need to write an order for more nails. Deliberately , he refused to dwell on why the supply would be running low. _Perhaps, I could-_

A loud creak from behind him stopped his thoughts mid-sentence. Puzzled, he turned towards the sound. A gleam on the counter caught his eye and and he approached it curiously.

Six gold pieces, lined up neatly in a row. Before Kurt could utter his gasp of a shock, several items crashed to the floor in the back room, followed by a curse of frustration.

Kurt was frozen. Completely and utterly frozen. His eyes glued to the doorway. He willed himself to turn and run towards the church. It could be pa, it could! He tried to reason with himself. But he knew that wasn't so. And rather than a sign of Karofsky's competence as the law, no one would enter this shop without Burt Hummel's say so, such was his status within the community.

Which meant someone had entered without it.

"Careful, don't break anything we ain't taking," a voice urged. "Just grab what we need."

"What do we care about these peasants? They were ready to string us up." The tone was full of disdain. "I say we burn it to the ground."

Kurt's hands covered his mouth to silence his moan of horror. _The prisoners! _They'd escaped.

"Mayhaps, but not the folks in this shop. They're decent people."

"Right so, Blaine. Mighty decent indeed. Mighty decent of them to give us those horses, too."

A mild scuffle broke out and something was put down with force.

"Horses, yes. Their whiskey, no. Let it alone."

"How many horses are there?" A woman's voice. "Is there a selection of colour? If so, my preference is white."

"There's just three, Rachel, including Pavarotti. You'll have to ride with Jesse. Take the grey mare."

Finn's horse, Kurt thought, his fingers squeezing painfully around his face as his fear threw a tremble over him. And pa's, too.

"I shan't! I won't ride anywhere with that oaf."

"That's a fine attitude! A fine attitude, indeed, considering I just busted your non-existent hide out of the Big House."

Finally, feeling returned to Kurt's feet and slowly, quietly, he began to ease himself backwards, praying that they would not realise they had been disturbed.

"Will you two save it for the trail. We have to get moving before that service is over and someone comes to check on Strando."

"Was he dead?"

"He wasn't dancing, darling," the one Kurt assumed to be Jesse answered in a smug voice. "We need to head to the north blockade. I took out the man they had at that point, and word hasn't traveled back yet. We have time on our side."

He had to go. He had to get out and get help. Strando may still be alive, it was perhaps too late for the man they'd stationed on the north blockade but-

"Where's Smythe?"

Oh, Lord. Kurt knew. Kurt knew before he even turned round that he was done for. Slowly, shaking, he pivoted and faced the man behind him. _Smythe._

With a manic grin, the man raised the butt of his gun high and introduced Kurt to solid black.


	4. Chapter 4

Kurt moaned as the pained lethargy receded, finally taking stock of his surroundings as the fog in his mind cleared.

The first thing that registered within him was the dull painful ache that spread across his head, spine and chest. Then came the steady thrum of another's heartbeat against his own, the deep panting of an animal and the crash of hooves upon dirt. He made to move his hands and realised quickly that they were bound tight behind his back, and that his legs were also tied. The memories hit him fast and he bit back a gasp of panic. _They'd taken him. _Oh, Lord. The Carmel Gang had him.

"-the whiskey was a no go, but Blaine had to go and take himself the most _darling _souvenir."

"Why, Jesse, it's just his size!" Another male voice, nearer this time, replied with a laugh. "Almost."

"Wipe your chin, the both of you," muttered the man whose horse he was flung across. "This was the last thing I wanted."

Beneath the panic, the fear, Kurt recognised something. He knew that voice. He _knew _it.

"Best thing all round," the one named Jesse said. "They are going to come after us no matter what, but at least with the kid along they'll be more gun-shy. Got ourselves a decent bargaining chip. At least until we clear the border."

"And then what?" the woman asked. "What do we do with him, then?"

"You know what, Rachel."

"Hmm, I suppose." Kurt could barely hear her over the horses galloping and the roar in his head. "But we need him alive until the border at least."

_They were going to kill him._ He squeezed his eyes tighter and tried not to see his father's face in his mind. Tried not to fill it with images of the _how_ and the _when_. But they came anyway.

The horse whinnied as the man riding it pulled on the reins. "No."

"Really? What do you suppose?" Kurt guessed him to be Smythe. "We set him loose here? Now?  
He'll lose his scalp before his feet touch the ground."

"Careful, Smythe," said Rachel severely.

"I'm saying that I'm still the head of this gang. And that we ain't killing him because you can't control that trigger finger of yours."

"And it was my plan that got the gang back together. Or did you forget that, fearless leader?"

"This is all truly fascinating," said Jesse. "But it appears Blaine's boy is awake."

Kurt didn't think, he simply reacted. Kicking his feet at the horse's chest, feeling a stab of regret at that, he threw himself backwards, bracing himself for the fall. He grunted in pain as his landed backwards and then was pitched to his side, unable to steady himself as his hands were tied together. The rope cut into his wrists and his hands hurt terribly as he struggled to right himself.

"Are you an idiot, boy?" Smythe drawled. "You're hogtied."

"Kurt!" At the sound of his name from that familiar voice, Kurt squinted up against the harsh light and...

_Oh._

"Br-Brian?"

Brian stared down at him, his face sorrowful. He was all decked out in a big hat with its brim turned up, a red and navy neckerchief the size of a bib, and a bandolier chock full of cartridges hung across his chest from one shoulder. Around his waist, he wore a belt with holsters on each side and his dusty shirt was dark with sweat. He was a far cry from the dapper man that he had met in the town.

"It's Blaine," he said slowly. "Blaine Anderson."

"You-you lied to me?" Kurt said in a weak little voice that he loathed. He stared up at them all, feeling smaller and more frightened than he ever had in his life. "I thought you were my friend!"

_"I thought you were my friend!"_mimicked one of the gang. "The more he whines the closer that posse gets." He glared at Kurt and he recognised him to be the one that had dropped him in the shop. "If this is going to drag out, may I plug him now?"

"No," Brian - no - _Blaine_said. "I told you no. You mind me now." He looked back at Kurt. "This here is Smythe."

"Yes." Kurt gritted his teeth. "We've met."

"Rachel," the woman said, circling her horse around him. "And riding behind me here is Jesse St. James."

Still reeling from everything else that had happened this new revelation caused Kurt's jaw to drop. "_The _Jesse James?"

"Goddamnit!"

"Oh, now you've done it," Smythe muttered. "That's our subject picked for the rest of the trail."

"St! She said St! Are you deaf?"

"Calm down!"

"No, Smythe! Shut your big bazoo! I had this name first. Me! Back when that bumpkin Woodson was just a gleam in his inbred daddy's lazy eye!"

"Jesse, you're riling up the horses," murmured Rachel. "It's an easy mistake."

"I'm quicker on the draw than him, I can ride better and don't even get me started on the amateur, lacklustre quality of that Clay County ban-"

A single shot silenced him mid-rant and they all turned to the source. Blaine stared out impassively, six-gun raised into the air. "Settle down, Jesse."

Slowly, Blaine climbed down from his horse, dusting himself down as he walked towards a cowering Kurt. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Kurt couldn't resist a snort of derision at that, but it turned into a moan when Blaine removed a slim knife from his belt.

"Don't," he whispered as Blaine crouched next to him. "I won't tell. I won't."

"Shh, don't go wakin' snakes," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm just getting rid of these ties, that's all."

The blade cut through the rope easily. Blaine grasped Kurt's wrist tightly.

"What exactly is your plan here, Blaine?" Smythe asked as Blaine cut through the binds around Kurt's feet. "His voice is giving me hives."

"Let it go, Smythe," warned Rachel. "Can't you see the poor boy is shaking out of his skin?"

Smythe smiled crookedly. "Jesse, quiet your squaw."

"You can get away with that once, Smythe." Rachel's hand hovered over her holster, fingers twitching. "And only once."

"Rachel was raised by the Commanche," explained Blaine, his own smile waning at Kurt's angry glare. "Come on." He pulled on Kurt's arm raising him to his feet. Kurt's legs were shaky from the long period he had spent on the horse, and a wave of dizziness felled him. Blaine's hands reached out, gripping him by the waist and Kurt hung on tight to his shoulders until it had passed. Blaine's breath fanned out against his cheek, and their eyes met. Kurt searched them for a trace of the desperado that would rob, kidnap and kill. He saw only regret and something else he couldn't decipher.

Stepping away, Blaine mounted up, then reached down a hand for Kurt. He stared at the hand with wide eyes, his fists clutching into the material of his shirt.

"We forgot to pick up the sidesaddle, lovely."

"Damnit, Smythe. Quiet your tongue," snapped Blaine. "Come on, Kurt."

Kurt grabbed hold, and Blaine hauled him up behind him. He hung on tight as the horse moved into a trot. He had saddlebags under him. They were leather, and hot from the sun, he could feel their heat burning through the thinness of his trousers.

He didn't mind the discomfort; he could bear it. Kurt gave some thought to going for Blaine's guns. They were in easy reach . If he was quick enough, he might be able to disarm him. Make him climb down and take his horse full speed back to pa.

But no, they were wary of him now. They were expecting him to flee. He needed to gain their trust, make them drop their guard.

Arms tight around Blaine, he gritted his teeth as they moved into a gallop. As the gang bantered back and forth, Kurt was planning how and when he would make his move.

Starting with killing that no-good four-flusher, Blaine Anderson.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Outlaw Blaine Anderson  
Chapter 5**

"Step right up! Step right up! Behold a miracle this very day!" Jesse clasped his hands tight and settled his features into one of beseeching. "A wondrous miracle!" He held up a tiny vial, the sun casting a gleam over the glass. "This, ladies and gentlemen is no mere concoction for tedious aches and pains. No." His voice dropped into a reverent whisper. "It can vanquish the greatest foe of them all. _Death_."

Blaine raised his hand. "Laying it on mighty thick, aren't you?"

For a moment, his eyes narrowed and lips twitched. As soon as it appeared, it was chased away by a bright, alarming, grin. "I can prove it, my friend. See the inside of my wagon. See what lies yonder." He made a motion to the empty air beside him. "See this young maiden that passed into the heavenly pastures this very afternoon." With several flamboyant sweeps and twirls, he dropped down beside the girl lying on the floor. Her face in perfect peace. "Watch, gentlemen. Watch." Pressing the vial to the woman's lips, he tipped the bottle up and emptied the vial into her mouth.

Nothing.

Jesse coughed.

Still she slept.

With a quick glance at them, he poked her roughly in the cheek.

Gasping, she flung herself into a sitting position, narrowly avoiding butting him. Raising her hand to her hairline, she pressed the other to her bosom. "I'm-I'm alive. _I'm alive!_"

Kurt couldn't help it. Everyone has a breaking point. Covering his face, he collapsed into peals of laughter. "That- that really- Surely you jest-Oh, Lord!"

"Yes," Blaine smiled at him. "They really did this. This is, in fact, how we met."

Rachel sniffed and took Jesse's hand as she helped him up. "Actually we were quite successful. Until you tried to shoot me."

Blaine shrugged. "I wanted to see if it would work twice."

Kurt wiped at his eye, his ribs actually hurting from the first real laugh he had had in an age. "So you were bunko artists selling this-"

"_Doctor Jesse's Magical Death Fixer_," he supplied smugly. "Most of the time it went slick as grease. As you have already witnessed, I was magnificent. But there were perhaps some things that needed to be tweaked." He tossed back his head. "Namely Rachel's delivery."

"My delivery?" She arched a brow. "I moved grown men to tears, Jesse. Tears."

"Of mirth," muttered Jesse.

"I see, I see. Well, I find your performance quite overreaching, if I'm honest." Rachel patted at her hair. "If one cannot find truth in the role, some infinitesimal thing which speaks to their very heart, then how can they relate?"

"I fooled Hummel's town easy enough, didn't I?" Jesse protested. "They all bought me as a hangman like it was gravy."

"You put on a big black hat and I said _'oh, I'm the hangman_', that's hardly a legendary performance. Plus-"

Blaine leaned closer to Kurt as the two continued to squabble, his shoulder bumping against Kurt's. "Actually, they used to resort to robbing their customers," he explained. "I was rather impressed with their imagination, so of course I stayed with them. Well, that and I couldn't shake them."

Grasping his arms around his knees, Kurt nodded mutely. There it was again. That feeling. A hot white twist of want in his gut that swam through his body and tingled pleasantly through his veins. He could not explain it. How could it continue to thrive after what Blaine had done to him? They had taken him. Lord knew what effect this was having on his father's health! But still it persisted. He found himself fascinated with the man. He was so many different shades that Kurt's eyes simply could not adjust.

He hated that he was in thrall to Blaine and his emotions: one moment he would be kind. He would be pally with him and try to make Kurt laugh, smile or simply chase away the misery that must cover his features daily. Yet, on other occasions, he would be quiet, distant, and snappish . Just this morning he had roughly asked Kurt to loosen his hold around his waist as they rode. Kurt could not figure him out. What he did know was that the kind moments almost made everything else irrelevant. Almost.

It was of no matter, though. Despite the confusion of his feelings, Kurt could not afford to lose sight of his goal. Slowly, he shifted and lengthened the distance between them, catching Blaine's puzzled frown as he did so.

"You love us and you know it," Rachel was saying, tying her holster back round her waist. Kurt had kept his eye on them throughout their performance. But now was not the time.

It was getting closer, though. He figured it had been at least two weeks, maybe more. And Kurt could just tell that he was gaining their trust as time went on. They had apparently decided that he was of little or no threat and now he was allowed to help with small chores such as cooking and making pots of coffee. Sebastian tolerated him, Jesse was amused by him and Rachel in particular seemed to enjoy his company. On occasion, he could actually feel himself starting to enjoy the trail, but then he would recall what fate awaited him at the border and he would push that feeling away. He didn't belong. He wasn't one of them.

"It's Sebastian," said Rachel, looking over their heads. "He's back."

"You get anything?" Jesse looked hopeful. "Something big? Something tasty? Something-"

Shifting his gun, Sebastian threw down the offering and grimaced. "Answer your question?"

"Varmints? Bosh. If I never eat another gopher as long as I live it'll be too soon."

"That so? Well, maybe you can come hunting with me next time instead of babysitting the wet blanket."

Jesse sneered and snatched up a mangled bird, bringing his blade to its back. "It'll do."  
Sebastian considered. "You're right, though. We need supplies." He arched his back and stretched, eyes darting between Kurt and Blaine. His lips twisted as if he had tasted something foul. "I saw a town from the hill. Too hot for you two to go in, but I figure be fine for Blaine and me. We can get some potatoes, corn, carrots and beans and the like. Stock up on the ammunition, too. What you say? We go now, and then mayhap we can be back before night fall."

Blaine shook his head. "No, you stay. I'll take Kurt."

"What?" Sebastian gave a shocked laugh. "You pulling my tail? You want to wander in there with our damn prisoner? Why don't you scrawl your name on your wanted picture and stick it on your horse's hide?"

"That's the thing," Blaine was already rising and moving to fill his saddlebag for the journey. "Kurt here has no poster of his own. I'd rather not draw more attention to us than needed. Hiding in clear sight, isn't that my specialty? And look at him. He look like a cutthroat desperado to you?"

The gang all turned to him, and he blushed under their stare.

Jesse tapped at his lip. "Maybe if he squinted a little?"

"I'm saying that word won't have spread here yet. If there's a posse on our tail after him we've probably thrown them off several times over by now with your tracking, Smythe. It's safer one of us being unknown."

Sebastian pursed his lips and looked Kurt over slowly.

Kurt, himself, was practically shaking in anticipation and fear. This was it! This was his chance. He'd be alone with Blaine. Just one person - one person who seemed to trust him, instead of a bunch of desperate outlaws. He could do it on the trail, he could kill Blaine.

Couldn't he?

_God, not this again. It's not like hitting Abel over the head with an ax, or whatever it was and why didn't I pay more attention in Sunday school as a child? All I remember is: murder's not very nice. I don't want to be Not Nice._

Every night he had tossed and turned in the cool air, thinking on it. The method, the time and feeling. In his mind, he had stabbed Blaine, he had shot him, he had strangled him. The only acceptable fantasy death for Blaine was one where he and Kurt somehow ended up dangling over the Grand Canyon together, with Kurt trying to help him back up (his father would commend his magnanimous nature later), only for Blaine to tragically lose his grip and fall down the ravine. Of course, there would be a big party later and everyone would congratulate him for being so heroic and sending the infamous Blaine shuffling right off this mortal coil. He'd know the truth and he'd be okay with that, because his conscience was clear.

Unfortunately, there weren't many canyons around here, grand or otherwise. And so he thought on the realities of what could happen, trying to steel himself for it. Would Blaine fix his eyes on him? Would there be blood? Could he bear to stand over him if he was gasping his last breath, but what kind of animal would leave another man to die alone? How to bear it! He always awoke with his cheeks wet and his body shivering. Could he honestly kill Blaine in cold blood?

But maybe this was an easy way out. The town, he thought. There'll be law. Maybe he could do this without hurting anyone? Perhaps Blaine could even be given time to get away.

Kurt chose not to focus on how much he really hoped for the latter.

* * *

"Mighty quiet back there," said Blaine, as they trotted back to camp.

"Nothing to say," he muttered. His hands rested behind him, tight on the saddle. When they rode like this Kurt liked to keep his hands away, but once they picked up speed he had no choice but to enclose his arms around Blaine's waist. He hated how a dark part of him prayed for uneven ground.

"We should have left earlier." He nodded up at the sky. "Be night by the time we'll reach the others."

"Okay."

"Warm, though. May even see us some stars."

"Hmm," Kurt chewed at his lip. Eying the guns in Blaine's holster. "Maybe."

_Do it. Take one. You won't stand a chance back at the camp. You've messed up so many times already. Do it._

And Kurt had messed up. He had completely and utterly let chance after chance slip through his fingers. The town hadn't suspected a thing. Blaine had simply led, charm personified and Kurt had hung limply at his side. If any strange looks were cast their way, it was to wonder why such a charming man would befriend such a sullen, unpleasant boy.

Kurt had wanted to say something, God, he had wanted to. Had wanted to shout to every stranger that he passed whom and what Blaine was. Yet every time the chance arose, his jaw would wire itself completely and utterly shut.

Why?

What debt did he owe a man who had knocked him out cold and kidnapped him? A man that planned to kill him once his usefulness had passed?

Kurt wanted to kid himself that he was protecting the townsfolk, that the ground was too hot. But he knew that wasn't why. Simply, deep down, he didn't want to see Blaine executed.

Which was going to make it _particularly_ difficult to kill him.

"-after the last debacle. Jesse nearly had me at ten paces."

Kurt frowned. "Sorry? Ten paces?"

"The last time we made ourselves some moonshine. Rachel took a liking and, well," Blaine laughed. "I guess I took myself quite the liking, too. We ended up half seas over and we got a mite too fond of each other."

"You mean you and Rachel? You-you were-"

"Oh, no, no. Jesse had his Colt out before any of us made a fool of ourselves." He paused. "I mean, even bigger fools of ourselves. I'm lucky to not have a hole between my eyes."

Kurt ignored that little bite of jealousy at the thought of Blaine and Rachel. Instead, he bit the bullet. "Why?" Kurt whispered. "Why did you take me?"

For a long moment, Blaine was silent and Kurt opened his mouth to repeat the question but he at last spoke up. "I didn't. I didn't want to take you." Then, lower. "Not like that."

"Then why?"

"We-We heard the thud. And when we rushed through you were on the floor and Sebastian was standing over you. When I realised who you were- I told him to back down. To back away. Then I checked to make sure you were still breathing. That you were okay." He turned slightly so Kurt could see his profile in the dimming light. "I rounded them up and we were ready to go. And that was when Jesse spoke up." He swallowed thickly. "I tried to talk them out of it. Into just tying you up and leaving you in the backroom."

"My _hero_."

"But-" He shook his head. "Look, what does it matter now? You're here and that's all there is to it. We two may not like it but ain't no cause to continue fretting over lost dust."

"No?" The horse sped up and Kurt braced himself and grabbed at Blaine's hip. "And when you reach the border and I become that lost bit of dust? What about then?"

Blaine sighed and pulled on the reins, bringing the horse to a canter and then gradually to a standstill. "Kurt, you seem a nice kid-"

"A nice kid? That's all you have to say?" He scrambled away from Blaine's back and climbed down from the saddle, slipping as he avoided Blaine's hand. "You're going to kill me, Blaine."

"Kurt, damnit!" Blaine followed quickly, grunting as feet hit dirt. "Listen to me."

"Oh, my God. Oh, my, God! You are, aren't you?" Kurt sprang back from Blaine's reaching hands, and felt the words building up in his throat and tearing from his mouth. "I mean-I knew that you were, initially, but I hoped-I was so stupid and I hoped- My father, he loves me! I'm his world! Why would you do that to someone like him? I don't know what this will do to him!"

Dimly, beneath the roar in mind, Kurt could hear his name being called. Could see Blaine reaching out for him once more. But it was all here. Everything that he had been bottling up within these past two weeks. All the fear, worry, confusion and anger. So much anger. "Who do you think you are?" Kurt seethed, stepping towards him. Blaine, seemingly forgetting about the six-guns strapped to his belt, took a step back. His face breaking into surprise. "All I wanted was to be your friend! To go east! Why are you doing this to me?"

"Don't take on so! Calm down. If you would just-" Kurt's fingers clenched and were flying for Blaine's face before the thought even landed in his head. He hadn't thrown a punch since he was in short pants and even then it was just to appease his father that he would remain safe in the school yard. Blaine, however, was just as quick. Grabbing Kurt's wrist before it made contact, he yanked him towards him. "Kurt. _Kurt_."

"Let go of me!" Kurt's breath was hitched and painful as he stared down into Blaine's face, fingers tight against the tender bones in hand. They were so close and the heat and rage and fire was swirling in Kurt's chest. He was pure adrenaline and couldn't bring himself down, no matter how much he willed it away. So close, so close.

"I promise you," Blaine said quietly. "No harm will come to you. Not when you're with me."

Kurt couldn't stand it anymore. He closed the distance between them and pressed his own lips to Blaine's. Despite his emotions, it wasn't hard and brutal. It was chaste. Soft. And everything that Kurt had ever hoped for.

Except for one thing. Blaine wasn't responding.

Kurt shoved himself away, stumbling in his haste. What had he done? What had he done? Covering his mouth in horror, he turned his back on Blaine and took faltering steps forward before falling to his knees. He was a dead man for sure now. There was no conceivable way that Blaine would let him walk away from this. Hell, he probably wouldn't even live to the border now.

Kurt stiffened as he heard the scuff of Blaine's footsteps. _This was it._ Blaine was going to shoot him in the back and leave him for the buzzards. Kurt had blown too many chances. Now he had to finally act.

Digging his nails so hard into the ground he drew blood, he clutched at palmful of dirt. Rising, he pivoted quickly and letit fly at Blaine's face. He barely heard the gasp of pain and shock, already turning away and breaking into a run. He wasn't going to wait for Blaine to clear his vision and reach for his guns.

Running as if the very devil himself was at his heels, Kurt headed for the hills.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Outlaw Blaine Anderson  
Chapter 6**

The soles of Kurt's feet ached and his lungs burned as he took shallow, shuddering breaths. His awareness faded from him as he ran, Blaine's voice soon becoming distant. He'd hidden behind a scattering of large rocks, his knees aching from the hard, dusty ground. Having crouched there until night had completely fallen, his bones ached with the night's chill; his stomach rumbled, and his hands trembled with nerves. He took little comfort in picturing his father's face in his mind because he couldn't remember a time in his life when he wanted to see it more.

He had always been meticulously careful. He had learned his lesson two summers ago when Finn had moved to town, misreading his kindness for something more. Kurt had to hide his ways; it was too dangerous not to. The world was too cruel, and so were the people in it. And now? He'd gone and shared his secret with a cutthroat who had his own wanted poster. Wiping at his face, he shook his head. He couldn't sit and wallow. What was done was done, and he had to get moving.

Kurt made his way down the hill, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other lest he trip in the dark. Dark, he thought, a flash of Blaine's eyes appearing in his mind. No. He couldn't be careless enough to think about the softness of Blaine's lips, or the feel of his chest, strong against his, or the scent that had surrounded him as he had pressed himself close. Of course, there was no point. Hopefully, he would never see Blaine again.

Squinting, he peered ahead, frowning to himself as he tried to make out the lay of the land. Then he smiled, feeling a flutter of excitement in his chest. He ignored the burn in his heels, and ran. There was a wagon trail! The road had to lead to somewhere, or at the very least, some travellers.

He rubbed his palms together as he wandered, the chill touching him all over. Again, he thought of his family, the looks he imagined on their faces spurring him on. Carole would no doubt cry and insist on feeding him his favourite meal and - he winced; this was not the time to think about food. Kurt imaged Finn, unable to hide his happiness. He would smile at him dopily, pressing him into a tight hug and his father -

Well. His father would never let him out of his sight. "Welcome home," he'd say; never a man of many words, but the comfort of a warm palm on Kurt's shoulder and the relief in his father's kind eyes would say it all. Home. Kurt had to cling to his memories of home. He had to ignore how his body ached. Push past the chill night air, and keep moving.

Easier said than done. As night settled in more cruelly, fatigue and cold overtook him. He fancied the chill started in his bones, made them feel leaden. He forced himself onward, singing one of his father's favourites under his breath.

_He was just a lonely cowboy  
With a heart so brave and true  
And he learned to love a maiden  
With eyes of Heaven's own blue_

They learned to love each other  
As they named their wedding day  
When a quarrel came between them  
And Jack, he rode away

He joined a band of cowboys  
And tried to forget her name  
And out on the lonely prairie  
She waits for him the-

Wait! Kurt gasped as he came to a halt. There were shapes in the distance. Travellers, perhaps. Two, at least, on horseback. He was saved!

_Don't be foolish_, he thought to himself. _It could be them._ He squinted, making out two figures which were much bulkier than anyone in the gang. Pushing aside his paranoia, he walked briskly towards them, waving his hands over his head. He fixed his expression into a casual smile, but his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs; he could break into song at the very sight. But, he reflected as he exhaled deeply, he had to be careful. He looked again, scrutinising; they appeared friendly, and Kurt could hear a light rumble as they laughed to each other.

He felt vaguely ridiculous for a fleeting moment. He hoped he didn't look too desperate, or too scared. They laughed again, softly, and he held his head up high. He'd just escaped from a dangerous outlaw! Why be afraid?

"Howdy," said the nearest as Kurt approached. The voice was surprisingly warm, the man appearing not much older than Kurt himself. "You get thrown from your horse?"

"Hello, sir," Kurt answered, deciding to drop the act. They seemed friendly enough. He took a step closer and tipped his head up a little. "Yes, something like that. I would be mighty obliged if you could give me a ride to the nearest town?" Kurt raised onto tiptoe. "Please?" he said, then cursed inwardly as his voice sounded so young and plaintive to his own ears.

"A ride? Why sure, little stranger!" The man waved down at him happily. "Climb on up here. We'll get you to town before you can lick a palm and smooth down a curl. Won't we, Bud?"

"Really?" Kurt was nearly felled from the relief that spread across his chest. "Thank you so much, I-" he stopped short as the man twisted at the rein and turned the horse away from Kurt's reaching hand.

"Not so fast there, little stranger. We look like missionaries to you? You want to ride along with us, you have to pay the toll."

"Toll?" said Kurt hollowly. "But- I don't have any money." He patted at his pockets and tried to quell the panic and frustration gathering inside. "Oh! I could wire my father when we reach town. I am sure that he would be happy to pay you handsomely for your help!"

"So, an IOU?" Bud piped up. "A contract o' honour or some such?"

"Yes!" Kurt nodded. "Exactly."

"Ayuh, ayuh." Bub spat to the side, the tobacco landing sly of Kurt's boot. "See, thing is, we're simple folks and we don't hold much faith with contracts. Do we, Mac?"

"No, Sir. Can't say that we do. Can't say that we do, at all." Mac turned back to Kurt, his smile growing wider. "What if you were to take leave of our kind nature? Where would we be then?" He spread his hands emphatically. "A sorry state, that's what."

"And why'd you want to do that, stranger?" asked Bud. "Takin' advantage of two kindly folk like what we are."

"Young people these days. Got no respect for their betters. Crying shame is what it is."

"But-" Kurt's eyes darted back and forth between the two. "I told you, I have no money! I fell from my horse and-"

"And we fell outta our momma's loins yesterday, shit." Bud spat again and this time the tobacco hit its mark. He smirked as Kurt tried to wipe it off his boot with a dignified expression. "I reckon you be running. You reckon on that, Mac?"

"There might be a grain of truth in that. I'd wager so at least." Mac tilted his head. "Mayhap there'll be a reward?"

"Well, I'll be!" Bud exclaimed. "You could be onto something there!"

"I'm not running! And of course there isn't any reward!" snapped Kurt. "Do I look like a desperado?" He ran a hand through his hair, scowling. "Clearly, you gentlemen have no interest in helping me so you may as well be on your way." Kurt turned to leave, but Mac drew his horse across his path.

"Bud, I do believe this little stranger just gave us an order! Can you believe that, friend?"

"I believe I did, Mac. I believe that I did."

Kurt sighed. "Do you two talk like this all the time? Does it not get _exhausting_?"

"Got a bit of a lip on you, ain't you kid?" Mac snapped, humour dripping away from his words. "Mayhap we can work something out. Get you into that town in good stead."

"I'd rather take my chances out here, thanks." Kurt retorted, but his bravery was beginning to crack under the weight of their hostility. Something in the air had changed. Some dangerous change, which he would have to deal with carefully.

"Now let's just see what kinda varmint we have here," said Mac, dismounting his horse. He casually lit up a match and brought it close. "Let's just see."

Bud began to walk his horse in a circle round Kurt, as though wanting to trap him, a lazy smirk fixed on his face. "Fancy get-up you got on there," he said, gruffly. "Real respectable, like."

Mac's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Makes me wish I had me a shave and a clean set of pantaloons," he said, rubbing at his jaw. "Bet they cost you a pretty penny, didn't they?"

Kurt frowned."Well, I- I tailored them myself actually." Normally, he would be beaming with pride that someone admired his obviously superior craftmanship. But right now all he wanted to do was turn tail and run.

"A man could really look the part if he had himself a pair of britches like that. I fancy you is just Bud's size, in fact."

Kurt let his breath go in burst. "Are you _crazy_? Do you have any idea how delicate this material is? How fine the stitching? He'd never get into this!"

"Did he just call me fat?" Bud demanded. "You calling me fat, kid?"

"Well," Kurt said before he could stop himself, "If that horse was straining any nearer the ground it would be a _pony_." Inwardly, he was flailing his arms in order to quieten himself but it was no use. Years of school room taunts had taught him to be quick on his feet and sharp with his tongue.

"You is quickly becoming a tired amusement boy," said Mac, stepping closer, his face twisted and mean.

"Yeah, _real_ tired."

"I'm -" Kurt's eyes darted for something, anything, but his eyes found nothing but several small rocks and it wasn't as though he could reach for one. Much better to see if he could talk his way through this. He took a step back and held up his hands placatingly. "I'm sorry. Just let me go on by and that will be that."

"You insulted us," said Burt. "You hurt our feelings. Debt like that should be paid. Fancy type like you should be obliging with your apology. You think you're somethin' else because you talk proper, like you ain't needin' to respect a decent man like me." Kurt caught a glimpse of yellowing teeth as the he opened his mouth wide and let out a harsh chuckle. "We was gonna be nice and let you hand them over yonder. But now I reckon we'll be taking them now. The shirt, too. It's a nice shade."

"Bring out your eyes," Mac called back.

"Why, thank you kindly!" Bud tapped at the rim of his hat.

"I'm not going to- to ride on the back of your horse in-" Kurt spluttered, his face heating furiously. "It's not decent!"

"Don't see that being any problem." Mac's gaze was hard and narrowed. "You see we've, ah, _rescinded_our offer. Learned that one offa my lawyer." He turned to Bud who had a bushy brow raised. "Court appointed," he explained.

"I can't- I'll freeze out here!" Kurt said slowly, unable to hide his nerves now, his voice wavering, merely a whisper. "I'll die."

A voice echoed in his head. It belonged to Blaine, and it mocked him. "_No harm will come to you_," Kurt imagined him saying again. "_Not when you're with me_." He imagined what Blaine would do. Well, nobody would ever tell Blaine they liked his breeches just fine so hand them over, would they? And if they did? Well. Blaine would be prepared to defend himself and would do far more than debate picking up a pathetic rock.

"You oughta hope that's all you die of. And not a swift haircut or the buzzards. Fancy town boy, you're easy pickings." Mac crept closer. His stale breath wafted over Kurt's face, an invisible cloud. "Know what I mean? Now, how about you play it square and shed those duds, little stranger. And be thankful that that's all we want." His hand hovered over his gun as Kurt could do nothing but stare back, eyes wide with shock, fist curling at his side and ready to fly at the first advance. "Now!" Mac said, raising his own hand slightly as all the breath in Kurt's body halted. "I ain't foolin'."

"I've got me a better idea, gentleman," a loud voice called from the darkness. "Fill your hands."

All three turned to the source of the voice, and Kurt gasped, hearing the trot of a familiar horse coming into view under the still-flickering light of Mac's match.

"And who the hell are you?"

"US Marshall." The voice was cold and raw, imbued with something that only spoke of danger. It chilled Kurt to hear it. "And that there is my prisoner. I'd suggest you two ride on." There was a pause, as the two men didn't seem to be heeding his advice. "I'd suggest you do that now." The click of a gun sounded from the shadows and watched the two men's expressions shift as they glanced at each other, their faces uneasy.

"Sure, mister. We was just having a joke," Mac said, stepping away from Kurt and mounting his horse quickly. He tossed his match on the floor with his shaking hand. "Don't go and do nothin' foolish now."

The two horses moved past Kurt, their heads bowed. They moved slowly at first, neither one of them glancing back. Once at a safe distance, they put spurs to their horses as they hightailed it out of there.

Kurt clenched his teeth, his hands forming fists as the horse trotted towards him. The last thing he wanted to do was look at the man atop it, but his head paid him no mind and raised up anyway.

"Kurt," said Blaine blandly. "There you are. I've been looking for you forever."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Outlaw Blaine Anderson  
Chapter 7**

"Eat up," muttered Blaine. "It's getting cold."

Kurt exhaled then looked up slowly, his body coiled, hands gripping the rim of his wooden bowl. Blaine had barely spoken since finding him on the wagon trail, only communicating in grunts and growled directions as they continued down the road, eventually breaking off to make camp. Those five words Blaine had just uttered were the first since he had found Kurt with the two men.

Neither spoke as Blaine lit the fire, the harsh snick of flint against steel and the purposeful rustlings as he lit the fire the only noises present. He had handed Kurt his bowl without uttering a single word. Blaine stared at the flames, not sparing a glance towards the shivering boy. Kurt, though. Kurt knew he needed the food but could only tap his spoon against the side of the bowl. His eyes were wide and frightened, yet he couldn't tear them away from the man beside him.

"What-" Kurt spoke at last, licking at the dryness of his lips. "What are you going to do with me now?"

Blaine's eyes met his at last as he glanced up from his bowl, his face betraying nothing. "What do you think?"

Kurt nodded and gave a shaky laugh. "Oh, yes. I see." Blaine's stare looked through him, and he burned under its weight. As the hot rush of tears came to his eyes, he blinked them away. He wouldn't allow that. Couldn't. Blaine had already seen too much.

"It's not like you believe it to be, you know," Blaine said, his voice lacking emotion. "Back east. It's not the fairytale that you think it is."

Kurt smiled bitterly. "Well, it's got to be better than here, hasn't it?" He winced inwardly at the waver in his voice.

"No." Blaine shook his head. "You don't belong. You'll always be running trying to find that home. But you won't ever belong."

Kurt's lip curled. "And what would you know about it, _Brian_?" He pushed his bowl to the floor, satisfied at how the sound of the tin bowl hitting the dirt caused Blaine's eyes to widen. "Do you really think you can sit there and judge me?" Kurt gulped, forcing his voice to remain calm, even. "I've never hurt anyone, ever!"

Blaine blinked slowly and raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry? What exactly do you know about me?"

"You're a _killer_," Kurt hissed. He felt the muscles clench in his jaw; the very act of speaking those words aloud causing his heart to thump harder, his blood rushing to his head. "Strando. The lookout at the north blockade." Kurt felt the bile rise in his throat, realising he didn't even know the man's name. "Lord knows how many more people are cold in their graves tonight because of you."

"You don't know nothing," said Blaine, his gaze unwavering. "Not a damn thing. You're just presuming, is all."

"Well, please enlighten me and stop being so sore about my presumptions. I always loved a tall tale around the campfire."

Looking up at the sky, Blaine folded his hands together before meeting Kurt's gaze again. "Strando got what was coming. He put his hands where they didn't belong, and Jesse isn't a man to look blue at. If the varmint is dead, I doubt anyone will shed a tear. The other man -" Blaine shrugged. "His soul don't lay on me none. I've done what I needed to do to survive. I've never taken down a man who didn't go for the draw first." As Blaine removed his hat, he placed it to his side, a sly smile framing his face. "They were just never as fast as me."

Now Kurt turned his face away. He couldn't do it. He couldn't reconcile the man he had fought he had come to know with the pistol-cold words that flowed from his mouth?

Blaine stared at him hard, though, then ducked his head. "I don't belong either," he said. "I tried to fit in. For the sake of my family. I got good schoolin', I was following my pa into law. I even had me a nice girl." Kurt looked at him again, noticing the sheen appear in his dark eyes. "But it was all a lie. Every moment was a lie. I cut a path, Kurt. I ran and I've never stopped."

Kurt worried at his lip, trying to read the clues from Blaine's expression. "I- I don't understand," he said.

Blaine shook his head slowly. "Yes, you do, Kurt." He paused, stretching out the syllables of the name. "You do."

He swallowed. What he'd - _What, Kurt? Guessed? Hoped?_ - sprang unbidden to his mind yet again. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it finally. He looked to Blaine, who watched him, eyes considering.

"Cat got your tongue?" he said softly.

Kurt looked away, his heart beating wildly. "You're - you're like me?" He heard the rustle of clothing, knowing he was rising, moving by his side. He took a deep breath, almost sensing the warmth of the other man behind him. "You're like me."

"Yes," Blaine said, gently. His voice was low but soft, and Kurt almost jumped at he felt the vibrations brush across the shell of his ear. As he closed his eyes, he felt calloused fingertips brush against his as Blaine lifted them slowly, carefully, and took them into his palms. Kurt bit his lip as Blaine's fingers rubbed gently over his knuckles, but he couldn't open his eyes; how could Blaine have changed the conversation from killing a man to, to this with barely a moment's pause? Looking at Blaine's expression would make this too real, but a cold tremble began at his throat and wired its way through his body. He'd never dared hoped. There were others just like him. All he had to hold on to were the cruel stories from Preacher Schuester's sermons. Nobody to ask, no one to confide in without risk of revealing himself as different, as wrong.

"I can't - I don't -" Kurt finally opened his eyes, forcing himself to stare into Blaine's face but his words caught in his throat. "I -"

"Hmm."

Kurt found Blaine's expression inscrutable. _Wait_, he thought. _Was Blaine-could he serious?_

Blaine nodded. "We're going to have to get you a red bandana."

"I have to go!" Shaking off the warmth of Blaine's hands, Kurt wove his hair between his fingertips. "I can't- I have to go!" Climbing shakily to his feet, he tried to find purchase in the dirt beneath his shoes and he willed his legs to move. Clumsily, he stumbled away from Blaine. He couldn't breathe, he needed to get away, he needed to -

Blaine's fingers gripped his upper arm, and Kurt swore, his body coiled up like a rope, every nerve on edge. He pushed at Blaine desperately, roughly. He had to get away from those warm hands, from those eyes. He had to get away. _He had to._

"Kurt! Calm down, you-" Blaine muttered something under his breath that Kurt couldn't quite catch, though he knew it was a curse. Kurt scratched at his hand, turning to run. Blaine, though. They were never as fast as Blaine. Instantly, Kurt felt strong arms circle his waist.

He was pure instinct. Fighting, struggling, doing everything he could to pry himself loose. His field of vision was cloudy with panic and he lurched backwards, spinning and catching his own heel. His hands were still curled up tight in the battered, worn fabric of Blaine's shirt, and he gasped as he brought the man with him. He groaned as his back hit dirt, and Blaine's full weight landed up top of him.

"Kurt!" Blaine reached for his hands, pulling them above his head. His fingers were rough and harsh as they tightened around his wrists, but his voice was bereft of any anger. "Stop!" he said, then lowered his voice still. "Stop running. Just stop." His voice was as soft as leaves rustling, merely a breath. These were the words that Kurt needed to quell the fire within. "Stop running, Kurt."

Chest heaving, Kurt felt dust on the back of his neck and stared into Blaine's eyes. They were wide open. Blaine's face was inches from his own, and Kurt couldn't choose where to lay his gaze. Blaine's mouth looked so soft, parted and wet from his tongue as it touched at his lower lip tentatively. Blaine was everywhere around him. He filled Kurt's vision; beautiful, rough, and incomparable, beyond anyone Kurt had ever known. Blaine's heart sounded out against Kurt's chest, hurried and strong. His scent was a mixture of soap from this very morn, the efforts of the trail, and a smell that was so primal Kurt already knew he'd never forget it. Kurt was barely able to think. Blaine was everything.

Kurt felt all the fight drain out of him, breathing in Blaine's scent, and Blaine knew. He seemed to sense it, looking unsure for the first time since they had made camp. Face flushing, a dusky bloom against his olive skin. Though close, Kurt couldn't focus on his words, couldn't focus on anything but Blaine. Couldn't help but wonder whether that dusky bloom was flushing his entire body. As Blaine relaxed his grip on Kurt's wrists, making move to retreat, Kurt's body acted on impulse. He shot a hand forward and gripped hard at Blaine's shoulder, then curled his leg tight around the back of Blaine's thighs.

"I don't-" he whispered. "I don't want to run anymore."

Blaine exhaled, eyes widening. He was searching Kurt for something more. For something he seemed happy to discover. For his lip twitched slightly, rising at the side into the beginnings of a smirk. Kurt felt colder, more exposed than he had ever known. Never before had he let the walls he had built fall down so completely. Blaine could crush him with a single word. Just one. Yet, he didn't care. He was tired of thinking. Tired of hiding. Tired of running.

At first, Kurt smiled to himself; it was a revelation. Then, nothing but sheer relief flowed through his body as the weight of Blaine's body pressed down on him once more. He nodded to himself as he let Blaine soak into his skin, and closed his eyes as he felt Blaine claim his mouth.

Kurt felt wonderful. His tongue pressed into the heat of Blaine's willing mouth, licked and sucked, nipped and bit. Hands roamed his body, one moment soft, one moment rough and hard. Kurt felt like he had spent his life below water and it had taken Blaine's touch for him to break to the surface. Everything was that much louder, that much brighter, that much more real and he felt-he felt everything.

"Kurt," whispered Blaine, breaking the kiss and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Kurt sighed as Blaine's lips made the shape of his name into the heat of his skin. "Kurt."

Lying here like that with Blaine, feeling his body pressed so close to his, moving against him just so. It felt nothing like it had with Brittany. Truly, she had been very kind to him, encouraging and sweet, yet with her Kurt had felt nothing. He had been nervous, embarrassed, scared and ashamed. He hadn't wanted to be there, but he knew that he had to go through with it. The others looked at him oddly enough and maybe, maybe if he went through with it, they would leave him alone, and then his pa would have one less thing to worry about. And it had worked, for a little while, at least. Deep down, Kurt had hoped that something would click inside him when he had lain with her. That the desire that the others had talked about would surge inside of him, but it had never come and he had resorted to filling his mind with images of Finn to complete the deed. But this? This was what had been absent. This was the feeling he had been waiting for.

Kurt's fingers pressed over Blaine's back, curious and unsure as he felt the muscles shifting under his palms. Kissing him again, Blaine nibbled at his lower lip. It sent a fresh hot thrill of need through him and in response; Kurt rolled his hips, working on pure instinct. A whimper tumbled from his mouth as Blaine cursed and surged against him in an answering thrust. The action filled Kurt with an odd sense of power and he repeated it, harder this time, moaning at the flush of pleasure that followed.

"Wait," Blaine murmured against Kurt's lips, again he tried to withdraw but Kurt's mind revolted at the thought of losing the warmth of his body. He fisted his hands into Blaine's shirt, nails marrying skin through the thin material. Holding him still and holding him close.

"Don't," Kurt breathed, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't."

Propping himself up onto an elbow, Blaine watched him as the light of the fire flickered over them. The flames dancing in Blaine's eyes made something twist in Kurt's gut and he allowed a small moan to escape. Keeping his eyes on Kurt's, his face betraying no emotion, Blaine slowly shifted his own hips.

"Oh- Lord." Kurt's back arched at the contact, bring them ever closer. He was aching. Grabbing at the base of Blaine's neck, he brought his mouth to his own, kissing harder and more desperate than all previous kisses. He wanted to writhe and press and push. He wanted to sink into Blaine until there was nothing left of him, just this white burning want. He had never felt this, had never allowed himself to even feel a breath of this feeling, but now it simply burst from him. The tempo of their hips was clumsy and out of time, their kiss too much tongue and too much teeth and too little contact. A burn in his chest told him that he was barely taking the time to breathe but he still couldn't stop. He needed this.

"Kurt, what-" Blaine began, breaking off when Kurt's hand grabbed at his rear desperately, pressing up in urgent little bucks. Closer, closer.

Kurt gasped as he grinded against Blaine, his pace becoming almost frantic as his moans climbed in volume. A heat coiled in his belly and he knew he was close, knew by Blaine's own grunts and bitten off gasps that the other was the same and he chased that feeling. It was the edge and he wanted to leap, to soar. Dropping his head back, he ground his hair into the dirt beneath him. "Please. Don't stop." His stomach contracted and he moaned as felt his balls tighten. "Yes, yes," Kurt hissed as he found his release, tossing his head back and forth as the warmth in his stomach spread to his cock. "Blaine!" A wet warmth spread across his trousers as Blaine shuddered and jerked with a low groan, finally slumping upon him. Blaine's cheek pressed against his own and Kurt, through his foggy, blissed out state, could feel that his skin was wet and cold against his own.

"Kurt," said Blaine, weakly pushing himself up after a long moment, once and staring down into his face. He reached out a hand and caressed beneath Kurt's eye with his thumb. "What troubles you so?" Blaine's brows were furrowed and his eyes were filled with confusion and something akin to fear.

Tears? Kurt raised his own hands and touched at his face in shock. "I don't-I don't know why." Hesitantly, he touched at Blaine's own cheek with the wet fingertip. "I don't know why I'm crying."

_Relief_. That was the feeling spreading across his chest now. Relief that for the first time in his life, he wasn't hiding from the world. Someone could see him for who he was. For a brief moment in time, everything else had melted away. His fear that his secret would be discovered. Of hurting his father. After all these years, all the worry that had constantly lain upon his shoulders had simply stopped. For once, Kurt had allowed pure instinct and desire to lead him. Had let slip his control and let himself just be.

"I'm sorry," whispered Blaine. "I- I never meant for this to-no," he reassured on seeing Kurt's widening eyes. "Not this, this was-" he smirked, "-perfect. But I never meant to take you from your home, Kurt. You don't belong here. You're too good and it's too dangerous. We got us a posse on our tail for one and-"

"Let it lie," said Kurt softly. "Just for now, let it lie."

Watching him carefully, Blaine gave a slight nod and then leaned forward, pressing his lips to Kurt's cheek and kissing away the tears one by one. Kurt curled his arms around him, taking comfort from his warmth. He was right. There was that. He was traveling with a gang of wanted criminals. The border was coming. Every moment they had was only a moment of borrowed time.

With a shudder, Kurt pushed the thought away and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of Blaine's mouth. _Let it lie_, he told himself as Blaine deepened the clinch, fingers stroking down his side.

In the depths of the night, they refused to let the shadow that loomed over them be acknowledged.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Outlaw Blaine Anderson  
Chapter 8**

Kurt, with his arms wrapped around his knees, stared out at the pale sky that was slowly draining of the night. It had been three days since he had lain with Blaine. Three whole days and he was still in a haze of want and a muted sort of happiness.

The others had bought Blaine's story about why they were so late in returning. He had deftly mixed the truth about their run-in with the desperadoes but adding meat to the affair, making it sound it sound more complex and dangerous. Jesse and Rachel had listened with wide eyes and rapt faces, but Kurt knew that Sebastian was suspicious; he could tell by the narrowed eyes that constantly sought him out as Blaine spoke, as if he could read the lie burning in Kurt's expression. Perhaps he knew Blaine too well by now, or perhaps it was Kurt's expression of pure awe and fascination as he watched Blaine. He could feel the silly, guilty smile staining his face, but by no measure could he chase it away.

The problem was that now Kurt knew what it was like to live without an anchor around his ankles, he could no longer rein it in. He was finding it harder and harder to hide the effect that Blaine was having on him. Whenever he wasn't at his side, Kurt's eyes would seek him out hungrily: the way that he would roll his shoulders and rub wearily at his shoulder at the end of long days ride would make Kurt's fingers ache. He longed to press his face into the nape of his neck as they rode, his hands wrapped tight around Blaine's middle. And at night?

Well. He flushed when he recalled what they entailed.

"You're up early," Blaine said softly, interrupting his thoughts. He nudged Kurt's arm with his knee. "Jesse's snoring wake you?"

"I'm pretty sure that's Rachel, actually." Kurt smiled as Blaine sat down next to him. He huddled closer. "But it's better than her waking us up with a rendition of _The Wild Ripling Waters_ again".

"You have it straight on her snoring, but I reckon you keep it to yourself in case you offend her feminine sensibilities." Blaine watched him from the corner of his eye. "You should sleep, though. Long days out here."

"I do sleep," answered Kurt in a soft voice. "A lot better now I am no longer tied down at night."

Blaine flinched and glanced away. "Sebastian doesn't trust easily. But I've explained it to him. He knows you be safer here with m-with us."

Kurt tilted his head. "How did you meet him, Blaine? I know how you met Rachel and Jesse, but-"

"It's-" Blaine pursed his lips looking for the words. "It's complicated. And not my tale to tell. Would you mind if we didn't discuss it?"

Kurt faltered, shrugging after a moment and offering a small smile. "I don't think he likes me much."

"Well, you are supposed to be our prisoner," he teased. "And you've already got Rachel and Jesse fawning over you in a way they never have over him. Jesse's even trying to think up a cowboy name for you. Sebastian is-he-" Blaine's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "He can be quite prickly."

"Really?" Kurt pressed a hand to his chest and shook his head slowly. "And yet he hides it so well!"

Blaine's lips twitched. "I'm certain he was only throwing that bowl at you for you to wash."

"Maybe. But perhaps he could just _hand_ me the cutlery next time?"

"Rachel's had a word with him. And by word, I mean she showed him her old Betsey and threw him a stink eye. Ain't a man in the west that's a quicker draw on the gun than Rachel Berry."

"Yes, she's told me. Repeatedly. With numerous demonstrations." Kurt smiled at him, his voice bright. "So, will she do it? Will she dispose of me at the border? Or will that be Sebastian's treat?"

Kurt's chest seemed heavy as the words left his lips. Where had that come from? He had been pushing the worries away since that night. He refused to let them back after allowing his desires through the gate. And yet, as he heard the sentence meet air he knew that the fear and never truly gone away. It had merely had lain in wait. He cursed himself for ruining the moment, but staying alive had never seemed so vital as it did now.

Blaine's face had paled at his words. He swallowed, looked away. He turned back to his Kurt, his expression serious. "I told you. I won't hurt you. I won't allow anyone to hurt you."

"But the others-"

"We aren't monsters, Kurt! We do what we do to survive. Killing a slight, unarmed boy is not what we are about. And no offence, but it's not it's something we'd crow about."

Kurt bristled. "How patronising. Is that all I am to you?"

"No," said Blaine simply. "Truth be told, I don't know what the hell you are to me." He stood up. "All I can ask, Kurt, is that you trust me. You have no reason to. I dragged you out here on this owl hoot trail and if you've got any brains in that hair you won't, but I'm asking you that you take a chance and do." He held out a hand. "What do you say?"

Kurt regarded him coolly for a moment, weighing his words. "Okay," he whispered, taking Blaine's hand and allowing him to be brought to his height. "Okay, I trust you."

"Good!" Blaine grinned. "Now how about we see if we can get you aiming truer and faster than Rachel, huh?"

* * *

Blaine pointed towards a dead stump. "That scoundrel wants to drop me because I admired his companion's lovely slim ankles."

Kurt nodded. "He looks terribly angry about it."

"Naturally." Blaine nodded. "As the ankles were wrapped around my head at the time."

Kurt blushed beetroot and Blaine grinned back toothily.

"Now," Blaine continued. "He's mad as hell and fixin' to clear leather before me. But, I can't let that happen, can I?" Kurt shook his head. "So what I propose is-" Blaine snatched at both his Colts. In a wild blur, they came up level and cocked. His bullets thundered into the stump, throwing out little clouds of dust and wood.

"Gosh," Kurt said in wonder, feeling a heat stirring in his stomach. "I guess you and the ankles can run away together now."

"Mayhap," he said, handing over the still smoking pistol to Kurt. "Let's see you let fly."

Kurt tucked the gun into the holster that Blaine had loaned him, and dropped his arms straight. He stared down the stump like it was every bully that had ever turned their sourness upon him and went for the draw. He curled his hand round the gun and he whipped it out.

Only to throw it behind him with a clattering thunk.

"Hmm," Blaine mused. "Least you'd knock out anyone trying to sneak up on you." He laughed as Kurt shot him an angry stare, picking up the Colt. and handing it over. "Try it my way instead, though. Just for now." Kurt narrowed his eyes as Blaine took four large comical steps away from him. And ducked low.

Tossing his nose in the air, Kurt stuck his arm out straight, pointing the Colt. at the stump, and pulled the trigger. The gun blasted and jumped. Through the ungodly ringing in his ears, Kurt heard a quiet thump. A puff exploded off the stump.

"I hit it!" Kurt yelled excitedly. "Did you see?"

Blaine peered in amazement at the smoking wood and then back to Kurt. "Do it again."

Holstering the gun and rubbing the sweat off his palms onto his trousers, Kurt once again went for the quickdraw. Clearing leather, he thumbed the hammer and let loose at the stump. Once again a perfect shot.

Kurt turned to Blaine, a smug smile playing at his lips. "And you made it sound _so_ hard."

Blaine scowled but there was no real malice in it. "Okay. You got yourself a natural skill." He walked up behind Kurt pressing up close. "Now let's see how way you draw when distracted." As Kurt re-holstered the gun, Blaine pressed up close, his torso aligning against Kurt's back. "Draw, pilgrim," he whispered into Kurt's ear.

The shot went wide. It was a wonder it didn't take out the back of Blaine's head from the shivers of pleasure in Kurt's body. Blaine's hand smoothed its way down Kurt's arm and encircled the Colt. Extricating it gently from Kurt's fingers, he tossed it far from them both.

His hands moved to Kurt's front, and his lips settled against the sweaty nape of Kurt's neck, tongue tracing in tiny whorls. He slowly began to unbutton Kurt's shirt, fingers rubbing along every trace of skin he slowly revealed.

A soft whimper escaped Kurt when Blaine's nails raked down his chest, leaving tingling reminders in his wake. Holding Kurt's arms, he slowly slipped Kurt's shirt just a few inches down and kissed and nipped along the pale junction of his shoulder. Blaine pushed the material down to Kurt's elbows before stripping it entirely away and dropping it to the ground with the gun.

Kurt's hips began to move in gentle thrusts and undulations as Blaine's hands rested against his hips, pulling him backwards and rubbing his groin against him. Kurt gasped at the hardness he felt pressing into the crack of his ass and the delicious thrill that shot through him almost turning his legs to wisps of air. But Blaine had him tight. Wrapping his arms around Kurt's front, he began to move the two in a slow, punishingly slow, grind.

Reaching behind him, Kurt put his hand to back of Blaine's head, bringing his mouth to his own neck and sighing in pleasure as Blaine took the hint and began to nibble at that one perfect place, biting and then licking over the skin in apology.

"Does that please you?" said Blaine in a hot whisper against his cheek. He pressed up hard, raising Kurt up onto his tiptoes.

"Yes, oh, yes, don't stop," pleaded Kurt through gritted teeth, the insistent throb in his groin almost unbearable. Suddenly, there was nothing but cold air at his back as Blaine moved away and Kurt stumbled backward in a haze of lust and surprise. He didn't move far, though. Gliding around him, Blaine made short work of Kurt's trousers, hands running up and down his thighs as he dropped to his knees."Blaine, what are you-" Blaine's fingers curled around his underwear and Kurt gasped as he dragged them down, and his aching cock bobbed into view.

Despite Kurt's newfound confidence, self-consciousness overcame him fast and his palms found his burning face, hiding him from view.

Blaine's hands were on his thighs, warm and heavy, moving up and over his hips in a slow caress. Kurt lowered his hands, face still flushing but his desire overwhelming his shyness. He watched as Blaine touched him, surprised by his gentleness, by the way that he pressed his hands to the inside of Kurt's thighs and urged them apart, still stroking his skin, firm yet soothing.

Soft kisses, again and again, working his way up until Kurt could feel warm breath and the brush of Blaine's cheek on his balls.

"So beautiful," breathed Blaine, tentative fingers touching at him. Kurt bit his lips as Blaine's fingers dance along his foreskin and his eyes observed him as if waiting for permission. Shakily, Kurt gave a brief nod and Blaine smiled slowly "So very beautiful," he murmured again. Kurt hissed in shock as Blaine's fingers pushed the foreskin back exposing the sensitive glistening head. Watching Kurt all the while, Blaine snaked out his tongue and delivered light touches followed by more lingering ones. Kurt moaned at the traces of heat moving over him as Blaine swirled his tongue over the entire head. With a final glance up at a wide-eyed Kurt, Blaine wrapped his head around the head, sucking noisily.

"Oh," Kurt said weakly. He stared in disbelief as his cock slowly disappeared between Blaine lips and into his mouth. "Oh." Blaine moved his tongue in long, savoury strokes, fingers loosely coiled at the base and Kurt moaned at that wet heat and firm pressure as Blaine sucked, deliberate movements drawing slow curls of pleasure from deep within.

It was like nothing that Kurt had ever imagined, not even since that night in the hills. His hands fisted at his sides, curling and unclenching and all he wanted to do was bury them deep into Blaine's curls. To have more of that tight, slippery velvet surrounding him.

But then there was a cold breeze and Blaine's mouth was gone. Kurt almost cried in frustration but it was a short lived sorrow, for Blaine had moved to mouth Kurt's ball sack and now there was no stopping his fingers from grabbing at Blaine's head if only to maintain his balance, as Blaine tenderly sucked one, then the other. He tried to hold still against the intense sensation, eyes screwed tightly closed but when Blaine ran his tongue up the underside of his cock, Kurt gave up, groaning and twisting his hips, pushing against Blaine's mouth. "Please," he begged wantonly. "Please." With a low chuckle Blaine licked the head. Kurt jerked his hips. "Blaine."

Blaine licked his hipbone, ran his tongue down his stomach and pressed his face against his pubic hair. His mouth travelled everywhere yet left Kurt's cock alone and needing. Dimly, Kurt was aware of Blaine's own fisting hand tucked deep inside his trousers, but the cloud of lust that swarmed Kurt was almost impenetrable. He needed that heat. He couldn't live without it. Blaine maybe deserved every single one of those wanted posters of his.  
"Please, Blaine, just- please!"

Finally, Blaine's mouth engulfed him again, and Kurt almost wept in relief, falling forward only for Blaine's hand to snatch at his hip to grab tight, lest Kurt choke him. Oh. Guilt flooded through him as realised what he had nearly done and he tried to pull away, stuttering apologies as he did, but Blaine only held him firm and took him further into his mouth, groaning around Kurt's member, the vibrations causing Kurt to throw back his head in a guttural yell.

Blaine drew off and Kurt looked down, his eyes lidded, knees shaking and that telltale sign building in his stomach. Oh, Lord, Blaine looked so debauched and sinful staring up at him like that with those dark eyes. His breath coming faster now as his hand sped on ever more.

Watching him, Blaine smirked, leaned forward and pressed his tongue into Kurt's slit, then with a flick of his tongue lapped at the moisture there.

Kurt groaned and fell back. "Please," he begged, his skin feeling three sizes too tight. "Please!" Kurt dug his heels into the ground, and Blaine tugged at Kurt's hip, encouraging him to thrust deeper. Kurt's hands dropped from Blaine's head and onto his shoulders, fisting at the shirt and holding himself steady as Blaine sucked harder, his cheeks concaving on an upward stroke as he watched Kurt fall apart. "I'm going to-" he warned, "Blaine, I-"

Toes curling, Kurt gasped as his climax to tore through him and he shouted Blaine's name as he came, hot and hard against Blaine's lips. With an undignified noise, Blaine released Kurt's cock and wrapped his hand tight around hand Kurt's dick cock, as the remains of Kurt fell over the edge. Licking and suckling at Kurt's head, Blaine's groaning began to rise and Kurt winced as the pleasure slowly became painful so soon after orgasm. He didn't have to endure it for long though as Blaine quickly followed, spilling over his own blurring hand and pressing his face tight against the crease of Kurt's thigh.

"Yes, yes," Blaine gasped, mouthing at the skin there and Kurt couldn't stand it any longer. Limp and breathless, he dropped to his knees and pulled Blaine into a kiss, tasting the bitterness of himself on Blaine's tongue.

"That was- How did- I don't-" Kurt struggled out as Blaine swiped at his lips with his tongue. Licking away the last trace of Kurt's pleasure.

Blaine began to answer but then cocked his head, brows joined together in confusion. "Something's coming. Quick, dress yourself. Mind me now!"

Falling over numb limbs and aching tiredness, Kurt dressed as fast as he could, tucking the shirt into his trousers just as Sebastian trotted into view. He fumbled for his belt, dusted himself down, and turned to face Sebastian.

"Howdy," he said, taking in Kurt's flushed cheeks and heaving chest. "I heard shooting."

"I was teaching Kurt here how to shoot." Blaine placed his hat back on his head, flicking at the rim. "He's mighty fine at it, too."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," said Sebastian coldly. "You're needed back at camp. Jesse's seen something."

"What?" Blaine asked, dodging around Kurt and picking up the Colt.

"A wagon. A full one, too." Sebastian fixed his eyes on Kurt's. "We're fixing to turn it over. You in?"


End file.
